Billy, when the dismal thing had dragged its way through the final note, sat “down front,” crying softly in the semi-darkness while she was waiting for Alice Greggory to “run it through just once more” with a pair of tired-faced, fluffy-skirted fairies who could _not_ learn that a duet meant a _duet_--not two solos, independently hurried or retarded as one's fancy for the moment dictated. To Billy, just then, life did not look to be even half worth the living. Her head ached, her throat was going-to-be-sore, her shoe hurt, and her dress--the trailing frock that had been under the basso's foot--could not possibly be decently repaired before to-morrow night, she was sure. Bad as these things were, however, they were only the intimate, immediate woes. Beyond and around them lay others many others. To be sure, Bertram and happiness were supposed to be somewhere in the dim and uncertain future; but between her and them lay all these other woes, chief of which was the unutterable tragedy of to-morrow night. It was to be a failure, of course. Billy had calmly made up her mind to that, now. But then, she was used to failures, she told herself. Was she not plainly failing every day of her life to bring about even friendship between Alice Greggory and Arkwright? Did they not emphatically and systematically refuse to be “thrown together,” either naturally, or unnaturally? And yet--whenever again could she expect such opportunities to further her Cause as had been hers the past few weeks, through the operetta and its rehearsals? Certainly, never again! It had been a failure like all the rest; like the operetta, in particular. Billy did not mean that any one should know she was crying. She supposed that all the performers except herself and the two earth-bound fairies by the piano with Alice Greggory were gone. She knew that John with Peggy was probably waiting at the door outside, and she hoped that soon the fairies would decide to go home and go to bed, and let other people do the same. For her part, she did not see why they were struggling so hard, anyway. Why needn't they go ahead and sing their duet like two solos if they wanted to? As if a little thing like that could make a feather's weight of difference in the grand total of to-morrow night's wretchedness when the final curtain should have been rung down on their shame! “Miss Neilson, you aren't--crying!” exclaimed a low voice; and Billy turned to find Arkwright standing by her side in the dim light. “Oh, no--yes--well, maybe I was, a little,” stammered Billy, trying to speak very unconcernedly. “How warm it is in here! Do you think it's going to rain?--that is, outdoors, of course, I mean.”